


First Meeting

by Castillon02



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 09:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20207146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castillon02/pseuds/Castillon02
Summary: Before Q worked in espionage, he designed prosthetics. A customer who wanted a new jaw set him on a different career path.





	First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> For 007 Fest, for the "Silva/Q" rare pair square and the "fear" angst prompt. Thanks to Snowyleopardess for the brainstorming help!

Q’s newest client stopped in the doorway of his waiting room, visibly assessing the space, starting with the half-dead spider plant in the tiny office window on the left and ending at the frankensteined laptop on Q’s desk to the right. 

“Ah, hello,” Mr. Rodriguez finally said, shutting the door and walking up to the desk. His expensive, off-white suit jacket matched his bizarre off-blond hair. “They tell me you are the clever boy who will fix my face.” He gave Q a languorous, condescending smile, the kind Q had seen from a hundred different people—professors, government employees, CEOs—people who had all been forced to admit in the end that he was right, right, right, and they were wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Mr. Rodriguez, he was sure, would be no different. 

Q handed him the usual tablet for filling out digital forms. “I’ll need you to complete these intake papers, and after that we’ll do two or three facial scans in order to ensure the accuracy of your prototype. Although we will have an initial prototype available for you by the end of the day, the nature of your injury is such that we may need to go through two or more different models in order to find the most comfortable option for you.” 

It was the same spiel as always. Although the technical challenges of prosthesis production still allowed for some minor intrigue, particularly with cases such as Mr. Rodriguez’s corrupted jaw, Q’s software was so fine-tuned by this point that it practically did the work for him. 

But Mr. Rodriguez didn’t go sit in the visitor’s chair. Instead he tapped a finger on Q’s desk, next to his laptop. “I think you’ll find the forms are already in your email, my dear,” he said, setting the tablet back down onto Q’s desk. 

Q paused. His forms were confidential. So was his email. He had encrypted the forms himself, as a challenge, because apparently being a young genius who was successfully running his own prosthetics business had the side effect of making him bored, bored, bored. 

He checked. Sure enough, there it was: a message from at:vilas, who was apparently registered under the same corporate domain as Q even though Q was the only employee. And the forms were all present and filled out. 

A glance up at Mr. Rodriguez showed he was smiling. He was also leaning just a touch uncomfortably into Q’s space. 

People didn’t always lose their limbs in motor accidents; Rodriguez was hardly the first client to threaten him. However, this was probably the most effective attempt. 

Despite the curdling feeling in his belly, Q smiled a ‘fuck you’ smile back at Rodriguez and stood, closing the gap between them. This close, he could smell the floral scent of Earl Grey on Rodriguez’s breath. “I do appreciate your efficiency, Mr. Rodriguez,” he said, making sure his tone conveyed the opposite. “Please, come right this way.” 

Rodriguez barked a laugh and came along into the back room, sticking close, like a dog at Q’s back. 

Invasive. Dangerous. But a paying client, providing Q didn’t end up dead instead. Too late to do anything about that now. He would have to fix that if he lived through the night. 

Q politely looked away as Rodriguez removed his temporary jaw piece, a cheap aluminium thing soon to be replaced by Q’s titanium alloy. He helped Rodriguez through the different scans, explaining as he went how his program interacted with the data from each one to form a three-dimensional image of the missing bone and cartilage in his sunken face. Q would tweak the program’s model as needed and then his medical-grade 3D printer would create the new jaw piece in a matter of hours. 

Afterward, Rodriguez popped his inferior prosthetic back into his mouth and said, “You will sell all of this to a hospital within three months. Tell me I’m wrong.” And he smiled his mad, pleasant smile at Q. 

Q opened his mouth to disagree only to close it again. Sell it all to a hospital, train a technician, dive back into research again… God, that sounded good. 

It also sounded like a terrible move, financially. Prosthetics came with a lot of job security. People weren’t likely to stop losing limbs. 

“You will, darling,” Rodriguez said, like a prophet. “And when you do, you’ll make something lovely and new for me to play with, something to keep me out of your files a little better. Let me know when you need another test.” Rodriguez winked at him. 

The wink felt like a slug crawling down his spine. “Thank you for your business,” Q managed to say nonetheless, and reminded Rodriguez of his total. (Thank God for that one summer job at Tesco’s.) 

Rodriguez paid with cash and a lingering look that took in Q’s body from his chukka boots to his tousled hair. “You will not see me again,” he said. “Not unless I am very lucky indeed. But I will see you, clever boy.” 

Q swallowed. “Goodbye, Mr. Rodriguez,” he said firmly. “Have a nice day.” Anti-stalking and anti-surveillance programs seemed like increasingly relevant areas of research. 

Rodriguez laughed again. He left an address that didn’t exist for Q to mail the prosthetic to. At the end of the day, Q dropped the package into the delivery box anyway. It was gone the next morning. A disturbing gap in the security footage had been left in its place. How many other cameras could Rodriguez infiltrate? Would anywhere be safe? 

Rodriguez never came back, but Q woke up in a cold sweat some nights, peering into the shadows for the glint of his hair. 

Within two months, there was no longer a prosthetics office for Rodriguez to return to. 

Within a year, Q had made significant progress in his goal of making sure that no one ever used his own technology against him again. 

Within two years, he had submitted his job application to MI6 using their very own computers.

Not long afterward, a virus with a grinning skull visual blew up Q’s place of work. The skull had come from M's own computer, from their very own systems, almost direct from Q's nightmares.

But Rodriguez’s jaws had only been half-there, rotted in his face like the man seemed to be in his soul, and in the face of that—well, Q could deal with some sugar skulls. As the new quartermaster, it was his job to make sure that the next attacks couldn't slip in. He would keep himself and his people safe. 

_Think on your sins_, the virus had read.

Q’s, he knew, was pride. He hadn’t had his fall yet, but as long as Rodriguez hadn’t dipped into international terrorism, he was pretty sure he’d be fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> Writing Silva was definitely a stretch for me, so concrit/suggestions for improvement are welcome. Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
